


i'm the holy water you have been without

by zanthetran



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Penetration, Porn Without Plot, blowjob, just normal stuff here guys, ok sex tags uh, post s12, technically just a s13 write with a trans yaz, trans!yaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25372894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanthetran/pseuds/zanthetran
Summary: There’s a long silence, only broken by Yaz asking, “So, have you ever had a trans passenger before?”She looks up like she’s thinking, then shakes her head. “Not that I know of. You’re the first.” The Doctor grins at her. “I guess technically you’re the best trans passenger I’ve ever had, too.”Yaz rolls her eyes and really tries hard to ignore the way the words you’re the best cause a shiver to roll down her spine. “I’ve gotta be the best since I’m the only.”orthe one where yaz can’t keep her dick down while traveling alone with the doctor and it becomes a real Problem.another trans fic bc the people want what the people want (and by people I mean me specifically).
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 89





	i'm the holy water you have been without

**Author's Note:**

> this started as “i’m gonna make every character trans and fight chibs in the parking lot” and ended up as SIN because I am nothing if not a people pleaser.
> 
> title from: Fourth of July by fall out boy

Traveling alone with the Doctor is not as easy as traveling with the Doctor and the boys.

For one, it’s a lot harder to keep her out of trouble by herself than it is when she had backup, and the Doctor has a bad tendency to wander towards whatever curious thing she sees (almost off a cliff once. _God_ , that one scared the shit out of Yaz).

Second is the fact that she never has a distraction from the Doctor. It’s always just the Doctor there with her. Sure, sometimes they pick up survivors along the way who help them defeat that specific Big Bad, but mostly it’s Yaz and the Doctor, and that isn’t helpful in the slightest.

She starts to wear tighter underwear, thinking maybe it’ll help the problem. It doesn’t, and she has dark red lines on her thighs when they finally get back to the tardis and she strips before a steaming shower. Then she tries tighter pants, because maybe that’ll help somehow? It doesn’t, it really only makes it worse and when the stands before another steaming shower, the lines around her waist and down the side of her legs from the jeans indented and slightly red.

Then she tries masturbating before each mission, because maybe if she’s already done it for the day then she won’t have this _problem_ during missions anymore. It helps for like, a day and a half and then really just makes the problem worse. She continues it though, because she’s pretty sure by now if she doesn’t get rid of the pent up _everything_ before missions she’ll like, die. Probably spontaneously combust when the Doctor touches her arm or holds her wrist or even so much as looks in her direction with those eyes that have Yaz’s knees weak sometimes.

Yaz pumps her hand faster over her hard cock, a light sheen of sweat over her body as the slick sounds of her lotioned hand fill the room. She throws her head back, hips bucking forward every so often as she imagines blonde hair, hazel eyes that always hold _so much_ behind them, strong hands that could probably — _fuck._ Her hips buck into her hand and her head drops to her chest as she comes hard over the towel on her bed. She bites her lip to stop herself from moaning too loud in case the Doctor’s roaming the halls again, slowing her hand as she milks every last drop.

She cleans herself up afterwards, wiping her dick off with the other side of the towel and throwing that in the dirty clothes hamper. She opts for a looser pair of underwear and jeans that give her room to breathe, then she pulls on a pair of trainers and heads out into the hallway. It’s a right, left, second right, and middle hallway to get back to the console room and Yaz navigates it easily, basically muscle memory by now. She shoves her hands in the pockets of her jacket when she gets there, coming up behind the Doctor who is bent over at the waist, looking at something on the console itself.

Yaz stops in her tracks, unable to stop the way her eyes immediately take in the Doctor’s position, the way the fabric stretches over strong thighs and an ass that she’s thought about sinking into every day since she met her on the train.

(and yes, she does mean _that_ kind of ‘sinking into’.)

The Doctor twists a knob with sure fingers and reaches down into the exposed panel, probably fiddling with some wiring or something. She lifts herself on to her toes and bends over further, ass sticking fully in the air, and Yaz can feel her underwear tightening.

She clears her throat loud. The Doctor jumps like a foot in the air, at least.

She turns with a hand over the middle of her chest (midway between both hearts?) and says, “Yaz, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” Yaz says, trying to forget the way she had just been bent over the console (she probably won’t ever forget that, honestly). “What’s the mission today?”

The Doctor looks over at the screens and Yaz watches her tongue dart out between her teeth before she says, “Kathievis! Beautiful planet, honestly.”

“Distress call?” Yaz asks.

The Doctor nods, putting the metal panel back on the console and moving around, flipping switches and pushing buttons and taking a bite of a biscuit before she pulls the lever down and the tardis shakes. Yaz holds onto the console, used to this part most of all. It’s always a little bit exhilarating when they travel — a little bit mind boggling. She’s _traveling through time_ with an _alien_ (and all she can think about most of the time is how the Doctor would moan her name). If you’d asked that young girl trying to run away from her problems (from _herself_ ) what she thought she’d be doing in ten years she wouldn’t have said time travel, or saving planets from total destruction, or experiencing the entirely of the universe, of _time,_ with a bubbly blonde who has no idea of the affect she has on her.

The Doctor moves around the console and towards the door, the back of her hand brushing against Yaz’s hip and her smell invading her nose. It’s things like that that really don’t help with Yaz’s predicament. The closeness and accidental brush and smell that is so uniquely the Doctor that Yaz is sure if she was blind she’d be able to identify her by smell alone, no matter what.

The Doctor stops at the doors, one palm flat against the wood. “Ready?” she asks Yaz with her signature excited grin.

Yaz nods, walking up behind her. “Always,” she says, following her out the door.

* * *

They stumble through the doors — the Doctor first, followed by Yaz. The Doctor turns quickly and pushes the doors closed with one hand, basically pinning Yaz between her body and the wood (and the box in her hand). They both breathe heavy for a moment as the adrenaline from the chase wears down.

“Well, that sure was somethin’,” Yaz says, trying to break the tension. It’s not doing anything to help the throb in her pants that had started with the Doctor bent over the console and only got worse as the day wore on.

“Yeah, sure was,” the Doctor breathes, tongue darting out between her lips as she looks at Yaz. A few silent, tense seconds later she starts, shaking her head like she’s clearing a fog. “Right, lets get out of here. Don’t think they’re too keen to talk now that we knocked out all of their teleportation doors for good.”

“They _deserved_ it — they were stripping the planet of resources. Resources that the natives could’ve _used_ , and —“

The Doctor raises her eyebrows at Yaz, hand already on the lever to whisk them away again.

“Sorry. Get a bit heated sometimes,” Yaz says, moving fully into the room and walking up next to the Doctor. She leans against the console as they take off, hands in the pockets of her jacket, and stares up at the ceiling (or what would be a ceiling if they weren’t in a spaceship that defied all laws of dimensions and space and time). Pin pricks of light flash like tiny stars and Yaz thinks the tardis might’ve started doing that for her because she doesn’t remember it being like that when she first started traveling.

“I just get tired of people usin’ other people with no remorse,” Yaz finally says.

The ship comes to a stop and the Doctor turns, box of teleportation conductors still in her arms. She leans her hip against the console and looks up at the ceiling as well, and like she’s reading Yaz’s mind she says, “I think she did that for you. Don’t remember it bein’ there a while ago.”

“If she likes me then why is my bedroom so bloody far and difficult to find?” Yaz quips.

The Doctor grins at her. “That’s _definitely_ because she likes you.” She straightens from the console and shifts the box in her hands. “Are you staying up for tea?” she asks.

As if her body is trying to answer for her, she feels the hard throb of her dick in her pants and shakes her head. “Nah, gonna head to bed for the night,” she says.

The Doctor nods. “Alright, sleep well, then,” she says, then turns to start towards her room or her workshop or wherever she goes when Yaz isn’t around. Except apparently her boot lace had come undone during the day and when she turns to take a step, she starts falling, the box of conductors falling from her hands and spilling all over the floor. The Doctor hits the floor on her hands and knees with a hard thud.

Yaz can’t help the laugh that bubbles up and spills from her lips. C’mon, it was funny. She tries to cover her mouth at the Doctor’s glare from the floor but it doesn’t help much.

“Quite helpful, you are,” the Doctor mumbles as she crawls around on her hands and knees and picks up the small cylindrical devices and throws them back into the box.

Yaz bends over and picks up two conductors, throwing them in the box before straightening again. “Sorry,” she lies.

The laugh dies in her throat when she looks down and sees the Doctor a lot closer that she had been before, on her knees and face practically level with Yaz’s crotch. The Doctor looks up at her, then her eyes slowly fall down to the front of Yaz’s pants and she licks her lips, and _that_ has Yaz stepping back, palms suddenly sweaty.

She knows. She doesn’t know how she knows but she knows. She knows and she looks like all she wants is Yaz to put her dick in her mouth and —

Yaz takes another step back and throws the last conductor in her hand into the box. “I’m gonna go to bed now,” she states, abruptly turning on her heel and leaving the console room. It’s middle hallway, first left, right, then left back to her room, and as soon as she steps through the doorway she clicks the lock behind her and unbuttons her pants.

She sighs when her hand reaches down to grip herself firmly underneath her underwear. She’s already hard and can feel the heat bubbling under her skin as she slowly strokes herself. She pushes her jeans down her legs with one hand, then lets go of herself to pull her underwear down as well. Her shirt follows the pile and she’s left in a sports bra as she folds a pillow in half and positions it in front of herself, knees digging into the plush mattress and soft sheets.

(Listen, she doesn’t keep sex toys on the ship and she is _not_ asking the tardis to make her any.)

The first roll of her hips makes a moan bubble out past her lips and she puts her hand against her mouth. The second roll of her hips has her reaching for the headboard to steady herself, already able to feel the building potential for this to be a bone shaking orgasm.

And it is. She ruts her hips against the pillow, hand gripping the headboard with white knuckles as the other holds the pillow in place. Images flash through her mind at rapid speed; the Doctor bent over the console, the Doctor on her knees, the Doctor with Yaz’s cock in her mouth, the Doctor bent over Yaz’s bed, the Doctor begging for Yaz to fuck her. Yaz grunts a few times as her orgasm builds up and spills over, waves of pleasure washing over her body as she continues to rut against the pillow below her. She groans low in her chest and her head falls back as her hips slow. Her pulse beats loud in her ears.

She takes a deep breath through her nose and pulls away from the pillow, her cock sticky at the end. Thank god she’s got another pillow because she hadn’t even though about the consequences of this before doing it (consequences being no pillow). She throws the pillow near the dirty laundry hamper and uses a tissue from the box on the desk to wipe herself off. The orgasm was exactly what she needed — her body feels loose and relaxed again, for the first time all day, and she falls asleep with the sheets tangled around her legs, dick still semi hard against her stomach.

* * *

She wakes with morning wood, which isn’t unusual. What _is_ unusual is that it doesn’t go down after she wanks off. She even tries her favorite position (bent over the edge of the bed, thrusting into her hand like how she’d take the Doctor if —) but it doesn’t help and soon enough she knows she’s spent far too much time trying to work this particular problem out and needs to be in the console room lest the Doctor come looking for her. She pulls the tightest pair of underwear she has on, hoping it’ll at least keep it down, and a loose pair of jeans that don’t hug any curve on her body.

The Doctor is bent over the console again when Yaz enters, and this time she’s coatless and her braces are pushed down, hanging loose past her hips.

Fuck.

Yaz clears her throat immediately. She’s not gonna be able to stand here and watch the Doctor work without getting hard, and thinking of dead kittens and terrible car crashes isn’t helping in the slightest.

The Doctor straightens up and turns to Yaz with a smile, goggles pushed up to her forehead. “Yaz! Morning! Thought you’d forgotten or something.”

“Sorry, had to shower,” Yaz says, her cock giving a resulting throb like it’s trying to show everyone (the Doctor*) she’s lying. “Where to today?”

* * *

So, wanking off once a day slowly turns to twice (before and after exposure to the Doctor), which slowly turns to Yaz excusing herself at various points when they’re together just so she can _breathe_ and her cock can _calm down_. She stands in the bathroom of the tardis (one of them), pants around her thighs as she looks down at the obvious hard bulge beneath the tight boxers. It strains at the fabric and Yaz reaches down to run her fingertips over it, sucking in a sharp hiss at the sensation.

It wasn’t even anything important the Doctor had said — they had been working on the tardis that day. Or well, the Doctor worked on the tardis while Yaz sat by (kept her company, is how the blonde had phrased it) and read a book she’d found in the library. The Doctor worked herself up into a sweat, and at one point she looks up and brushes blonde hair away from her sweaty face and asks, “Could ya give me a hand, Yaz?”

And giving a hand meant holding some part together while she welds them with a blowtorch, and then Doctor lifted her helmet and grinned over at Yaz like she’d just done the most amazing thing the Doctor had ever seen in her life.

The memory of that smile plays over the backs of her eyelids and her hand is on her cock before she can stop it. She gasps quietly and gives an experimental tug, her entire body singing with relief at being touched, _finally._ Yaz braces one hand on the porcelain sink and leans over, her hand already working underneath her boxers.

In the memory playing against her eyelids, the Doctor grins, the welding helmet pushed up and blonde hair crazy, and she says, “Yasmin Khan, you are _brilliant,_ thanks.”

Yaz lets out a little whimper at the memory of those words (who knew she has a slight praise kink?). Her cock throbs hard in her hand and she speeds up the movements, her chin dropping to her chest.

She doesn’t remember what she’d said then, probably some incoherent babbling and excuse that she’s going to take a nap or something before straight up booking it out of the room, cock already straining at the front of her jeans.

She pulls hard at her cock again and feels the orgasm building in her, causing a buzz underneath her skin that makes her want to shove her cock in something, to rut against something (someone) until she comes hard. Her brain replays all the memories of the Doctor in a crystal clear speed edit — the Doctor looking over at her, flower in her hair, sunlight giving her a sort of halo. The Doctor laughing at something she’d said, the Doctor grabbing her hand, the Doctor intertwining their fingers together, the Doctor on her knees, looking at Yaz’s cock with her tongue flicking out.

The knock scares the actual shit out of her and she almost falls over, trying to shove her cock back in her pants. Another knock sounds and Yaz yells, “Just a minute!” She zips her jeans without zipping her dick in them (success) and opens the door to the Doctor sitting on Yaz’s bed with her hands in her pockets, looking down at the floor.

“What?” Yaz asks, still sounding breathless and maybe a little harsher than intended.

The Doctor’s head snaps up and she stands from Yaz’s bed. She looks awkward when she takes a step towards Yaz. “I uh — I dunno if I’ve made clear, and I just want you to know because you’re my companion and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, and —“

“ _Doctor_ ,” Yaz says. “It’s just me. What is it?”

The Doctor looks at her finally, bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “You know, it’s okay to tell me stuff, Yaz. I’m old but I won’t judge you, or — or if you feel embarrassed —“

Yaz furrows her brows. “What’s this about?”

All it takes is the single glance down to the front of her jeans where Yaz can _feel_ how hard she still is, having been interrupted right before she was about to come. If blue balls were life threatening she’d be dead.

The Doctor says, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or embarrassed around me, Yaz.”

Yaz crosses her arms over her chest, raising her chin almost imperceptibly. “I’m definitely not embarrassed, Doctor.”

The Doctor’s eyes meet hers again and Yaz swears they’re darker than they were a second ago. “Oh, that’s — that’s good, I’m glad.”

There’s a long silence, only broken by Yaz asking, “So, have you ever had a trans passenger before?”

She looks up like she’s thinking, then shakes her head. “Not that I know of. You’re the first.” The Doctor grins at her. “I guess technically you’re the best trans passenger I’ve ever had, too.”

Yaz rolls her eyes and really tries hard to ignore the way the words _you’re the best_ cause a shiver to roll down her spine. “I’ve gotta be the best since I’m the only.”

The Doctor nods, looking awkward.

Yaz takes pity on her. “Is there anything else you needed?” she asks, knowing this woman probably doesn’t know what to say now. She’s a lot of things but ‘able to think of exactly the right thing to say’ is not one of them.

“No! Nope, just — just wanted to say that, tell you that. Make sure you know this ship is a safe space. Right? That’s what humans call it now?” She backs up towards the door, hands still shoved in her pockets.

“Yeah, I think that’s what humans call it,” Yaz says, leaning on the door when the Doctor opens it and steps out into the hallway.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she says before bounding off down the hallway, probably going to do some maintenance or whatever. “Night!” she calls over her shoulder. Yaz watches her go, smile on her face at the retreating form.

She comes hard ten minutes later, humping into her hand, bent over the edge of the bed. She groans low in her throat, curse words and the Doctor’s name ( _that’s_ a first) and images of a pink tongue, of _Yasmin Khan, you are brilliant._ She has to wash her sheets afterwards, realizing she hadn’t put down a towel and cursing herself for being so stupid (read: horny). She’s a woman but apparently she still thinks with her _other head_ sometimes.

* * *

She forgets about the conversation, mostly. Well except for the way the Doctor’s eyes glanced down at the front of her jeans, the way she looked _hungry_ afterwards, the manic energy with which she sped out of the room. She uses those images to make herself come more than once. It should feel a bit creepy, right? She’s wanking off to thoughts about her…best mate? Travel companion? Alien space daddy?

Either way, she doesn’t stop doing it, and she doesn’t stop the way she moans the Doctor’s name when she comes now too. She’s laying on her bed, sheets pulled down to her knees, one hand stroking her cock slowly but picking up speed. She bites her lip and closes her eyes, one arm bent behind her head as she imagines the Doctor riding her. Imagines the way she’d bounce on Yaz’s cock, the way she’d moan Yaz’s name, maybe beg for more. Yaz speeds up her hand and her hips start to lift, trying to meet her hand for each stroke. The orgasm builds and she imagines the Doctor saying that, moaning “Yaz, I’m gonna come,” while Yaz fucks her within an inch of her life.

“Oh, _fuck_ Doctor,” Yaz gasps, hand speeding up and orgasm brimming at the edge, ready to spill over.

Two things happen then; first, the door to her room opens after one sharp knock. Second, Yaz comes all over her stomach, unable to stop herself. She locks eyes with the Doctor as her hand stills on her cock, come still shooting out over her abs and the waves of pleasure that wrack her body have her eyes rolling back in her head. She can’t stop the whimper that leaves her throat and she most definitely wants the floor to swallow her up now.

She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know what the social protocol is for this situation (there probably _isn’t_ social protocol for this situation).

When her eyes open the room is empty, the door just barely open being the only proof of what had happened.

“Fuck,” she hisses, letting go of her cock and sitting up. She finds a towel slung over her chair and uses that to wipe the come off her chest and stomach, then slides on a pair of joggers and t-shirt and jogs out into the hallway to find the Doctor.

She finds her in the console room, flipping switches and looking at the screens. Yaz comes up behind her and shoves her hands in her pockets. She coughs a little awkwardly. “Hey, uh, sorry about that. Thought my door was locked,” she says.

The Doctor starts, turning around but not meeting her gaze. “Sorry bout that, Yaz. Forget you humans use your bedrooms for things. I don’t even know where my room is,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck.

“It’s alright, I just —“ Yaz trails off, not sure if she’s really going to ask this. “How much of that did you…hear?” She can feel the heat pricking at her cheeks.

“Oh, uh, not much, really,” she says vaguely, bright red cheeks giving her away entirely.

“Right, okay,” Yaz takes a step back towards her bedroom. “Let me get changed and we can go, yeah?”

The Doctor nods, finally looking Yaz in the eyes. She licks her lips and breathes, “Yeah.”

Yaz turns around and practically runs back to her bedroom, trying to ignore the way that one word and eye contact affects her.

* * *

She gets hurt.

It’s not the first time and it probably won’t be the last time, but it’s pretty bad. Like bad enough that she’s pretty sure the Doctor carried her back to the tardis (she doesn’t remember).

She wakes up in a room that looks a lot like a hospital, but that doesn’t line up with the last memories she has, so it can’t be a hospital. She thinks maybe she was kidnapped by the Quk who had stabbed her (she remembers that part. _God_ she remembers that part, and wishes she didn’t), but that doesn’t make sense either because their architecture style was more black and industrial, not white and sterile. She doesn’t notice the hand holding her own until she turns her head and sees familiar blonde hair, a relaxed face.

She’s sleeping, face slack and mouth slightly open. The line between her brows is gone and she looks peaceful. It doesn’t last long as she stirs soon after, hand squeezing Yaz’s as she wakes up. Her slowly blinking eyes snap open when she sees Yaz looking back at her, weak smile on her own face.

“Yaz!” She practically yells, moving to wrap her arms around Yaz but stopping at the last second. “Sorry, sorry, forgot.”

The dull ache in her side suddenly makes itself known, the throbbing in time with her pulse. Her mouth is terribly dry and she points to her lips, looking around for a water pitcher. The Doctor runs to the sink and fills her a cup of water, bringing it back as carefully as she can and only spilling like a quarter of it. She hands it to Yaz and steps back, bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

“I feel like I’ve been stabbed,” Yaz croaks, cracking a grin. The Doctor looks at her blankly for a second before smiling wide, practically beaming — the way she does when Yaz says something particularly clever. Yaz reaches out for the Doctor’s hand, not caring how it might seem. She needs the contact and apparently so does the Doctor as she tangles their fingers together, thumb rubbing against her knuckles. “What happened?” Yaz asks.

The Doctor studies the blanket on the bed and their clasped hands and says, “Wrong place, wrong time, I think. The guards weren’t supposed to be there — I’d checked more than once.” She looks up at Yaz, tears in her eyes. “Yaz, I’m so sorry,” she says quietly.

Yaz furrows her brows. “None of that, now. I’m not dead, am I?”

The Doctor rolls her eyes. “You _could have —_ “

“And I _could_ be hit by a bus tomorrow in Sheffield. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna walk down the street.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Sort of is,” Yaz says. “Also, I’m in the hospital bed. You can’t argue with me.”

The Doctor gives her a sad smile, thumb continuing the gentle rubbing against her knuckles. “I’m sorry,” she says again.

“I know,” Yaz replies, because she does. It’s not her fault but she will blame herself anyway, and all Yaz can do is be there, offer to help carry the burden, at least for a little while. “Braid my hair for me?” she asks.

The Doctor’s sad smile turns into a bright grin. “Now _that_ I can do,” she says. Yaz moves so her legs are dangling off the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle the IV stuck into the top of her hand, and the Doctor crawls up, kneeling behind her. She rakes her fingers through the tangles first, then separates the top of her hair into three parts, weaving them against her head. The gentle scratch of nails on her scalp almost puts her to sleep, honestly, and she probably would have fallen asleep if not for the constant throb in her side. When she finishes she ties it off with a rubber band she finds in her pocket and scrambles off the bed and around in front of Yaz to tuck the fly away hair with gentle hands.

“I should grow my hair out. Could have a braid like yours,” she says.

“So you regenerated with that haircut?” Yaz asks. The Doctor looks offended and Yaz snorts. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, how did you mean it then, _Miss Khan_?” the Doctor asks, arms crossed over her chest and obviously trying to look angry (not succeeding very well, though).

Yaz rolls her eyes. “I meant like, your haircut is chosen for you when you regenerate but can you change it?”

The Doctor shrugs. “I guess, yeah. My hair grows, I’ve just been getting it cut.”

“By who?”

“The tardis, of course. She does a great haircut. Has only cut my skin a few times and I never hold it against her.” The tardis makes a humming noise. The Doctor looks back to her, satisfied, a smile on her face.

“Thanks for saving me,” Yaz says quietly.

The Doctor waves a hand. “ _Nah_ , of course, Yaz,” she says, features suddenly soft as she gazes at Yaz. “Always,” she practically whispers.

It feels like something — something big, something _important_. It feels a lot like a word Yaz herself won’t even use. It feels like skirting around the ever growing elephant in the room, accidental brushes and hands on wrists, hands on shoulders, hands on arms, hands on hands.

It feels like a lot, and before she really knows what she’s doing she’s leaning forward and closing the distance between them. The Doctor’s hand reaches up to cup at her cheek and she moves closer, between Yaz’s legs dangling over the edge of the bed. She rubs one thumb over the soft skin and she tastes like tea and that little strawberry candy that only old people have (but secretly is the best candy ever no matter what age). Yaz runs her tongue over the Doctor’s bottom lip and nips at it with her teeth. The Doctor’s hand moves around to cup the back of her neck while her other lays flat against her chest, her thrumming pulse practically beating out of her chest under the Doctor’s palm.

Yaz runs her hands over the Doctor’s hips, over her ribs and a taut stomach underneath the two shirts. She tugs at them, pulling the fabric from the waistband of her trousers. The Doctor’s skin is cool to the touch — a lot cooler than Yaz’s palm — and they both make a noise when she lays her hand flat against skin. Slowly, her hand moves up until fingertips brush the underside of her breast, not going any farther than that.

They break apart, both of their chests heaving and hazel eyes usually so bright now dark as they study her face. There’s a long silence, then the Doctor says, “Yaz, just ‘cause I saved you doesn’t mean you owe me anything.”

Yaz raises both brows. “You think I’m kissing you because I think I _owe_ you something?”

“No! No, I just — I want you to know that you don’t. Owe me anything, I mean. I would’ve saved you no matter what.”

“Doctor, I know that,” Yaz says gently, hand moving from underneath her shirts to cup her neck. “I wouldn’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

“Are you sure?”

Yaz rolls her eyes, grabs the Doctor’s hand and puts it over her crotch where her dick is already straining at her underwear. “Pretty sure,” she deadpans.

The Doctor’s eyes go wide and she gapes like a fish for a moment, eyes going down to where her hand still rests against Yaz’s cock. “Oh,” she breathes.

“Yeah.”

The Doctor rubs her thumb slowly over the fabric. “It’s hard.” She sounds dazed when she talks, like she’s in awe or something.

Yaz snorts. “Yeah, that happens sometimes. Didn’t you have one of these?”

“Yeah, for a long while. Guess I’d forgotten what it’s like,” the Doctor says, hand starting to stroke Yaz through the fabric.

“Doctor?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you kiss me again?” Yaz asks. She feels stupid even asking but the Doctor hasn’t made another move towards her, only staring down at her dick, and she feels a bit exposed honestly.

The Doctor finally looks up, pupils blown and eyes dark. She licks her lips, looking a bit dazed still. Though she’s apparently coherent enough to lean forward and capture Yaz’s lips in a searing kiss — a thousand degrees hotter than the first one. She pushes her tongue past Yaz’s parted lips and holds her cheek in her hand, thumb stroking her skin softly. Her other hand continues the slow strokes, increasing pressure every so often. Yaz groans low in her throat and pulls the Doctor closer between her legs.

The Doctor’s hand moves from her cheek to her chest, palming her bare breast over the hospital gown she’s wearing. It’s not until the Doctor starts to push her back towards the bed that Yaz breaks away, a pained gasp coming out of her mouth as she feels daggers stab her side (wow, what a metaphor, considering).

The Doctor pulls back like she’s burned, look of worry and upset all over her face. “Oh god, Yaz, I didn’t even think about your side. I’m so sorry,” she babbles, hands reaching out but not touching Yaz.

Yaz holds one of her hands and breathes deep through her nose, the sharp pains easing as she keeps relatively still. “It’s okay, don’t worry bout it,” she says through grit teeth, trying not to show the pain on her face. The sharp ache eventually goes away and Yaz takes a slightly deeper breath, relieved. “Right, where were we?”

The Doctor looks scared to touch her, like if she does Yaz is going to break into a thousand pieces.

Yaz says, “Doctor, I’m not gonna break.” She slowly brings the Doctor’s hands to her hips. “See? Still whole. A miracle.”

“Yaz, I’m so —“

“Sorry, I know,” Yaz finishes. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Still here.” She rests a palm against her chest, feeling the hard double pulse in the Doctor’s chest. “Get me out of here? We can put on a film,” she suggests.

The Doctor grins at her, hands holding her hips. “I think that can be arranged,” she says, leaning down to kiss Yaz one last time before pulling back completely. “Right, let me check your side, make sure you didn’t pull any stitches.”

Yaz lays back and lets the Doctor pull the gown up underneath her breasts, exposing her abdomen and the fairly large gauze taped to her side. The Doctor pulls the tape from her skin and looks at the wound, at one point pulling her sonic out and scanning it.

“Looks good, no pulled stitches. You’ll have a slight scar, though, sorry. My sewing isn’t what it used to be,” the Doctor says, redressing the wound with clean gauze and throwing the old ones away. She moves to Yaz’s hand and pulls the IV out quickly, pressing on her hand with a cotton ball and taping a plaster over it.

“How far are we from my room?”

The Doctor thinks for a moment. “Bout a five minute walk. Why?”

“I wanna get a shirt so I don’t have to wear this gown the whole time.”

“Oh! Are you sure you can walk that long?” She asks, looking worried. She kneels next to the bed and Yaz’s breath catches in her throat before the Doctor carefully puts slippers on her feet. She looks up at Yaz, expression soft and worried.

She doesn’t think she can but she really doesn’t want to have to spend the night in this gown. “Maybe,” she finally concedes.

The Doctor stands and moves her hands to the edge of the purple shirt she wears, pulling it up and over her head and leaving her in only the white long sleeved. She pulls her braces back up over her shoulders and hands Yaz the shirt.

“That’ll work, right? Haven’t been in it long, I swear,” she says.

Yaz looks down at the fabric in her hands then shrugs. “Yeah, it’ll work,” she says. “Help me? I don’t think I can lift my arms that high.”

“Right, yeah,” the Doctor says, moving forward and unbuttoning the snaps at her shoulders. One side falls away and her hands move to the other side, not looking anywhere but the snaps. When the top of the gown falls down to pool around her waist, the Doctor picks up the shirt and holds up the neck hole for Yaz to stick her head through. They get her arms through with some very careful and slow maneuvering and the Doctor pulls the fabric down, her knuckles brushing against the side of Yaz’s ribs. She helps Yaz stand from the bed and they let the gown fall to the floor, leaving it there as Yaz takes a careful step forward, bracing herself on the Doctor.

“I think I’m okay, yeah,” Yaz says, moving slowly. She’s a little sore all over but she can walk and her legs work and she’s not like, bleeding out or having her organs fall from the wound, so the Doctor must’ve done a good job on the patch up.

The walk to the closest movie room is slow going but the Doctor never rushes her, only stands steady next to her as they make their way. She gets settled on the couch and the Doctor pops over to the snack bar to make popcorn while the film starts.

Yaz doesn’t know what they watch — she falls asleep ten minutes in, leaning heavy against the Doctor’s shoulder with fingers slowly sifting through her hair and lightly scratching at her scalp.

* * *

The Doctor dotes on her. She doesn’t let Yaz do a thing — bringing her breakfast in bed and any books she asks for and helping her get out of bed and sit up and even having the tardis put a tv in her room to help keep her entertained. The Doctor herself doesn’t leave her side almost the whole time, save for when Yaz showers and uses the toilet. She reads from books and talks about something she’s gotta work on while Yaz sleeps and tells her about trips she’s been on, people she’s saved.

(She doesn’t talk about people she’s lost and she doesn’t apologize to Yaz again and Yaz thinks maybe that’s progress.)

Yaz watches a lot of daytime television, reads quite a bit, and mostly lays there listening to the Doctor ramble on about one thing or another while she plays a game on Yaz’s phone.

And she doesn’t kiss her once. It’s almost like it never happened — except to Yaz it _did_ happen and after the first day she’s really not sure if she should initiate it or not. Maybe it had been a one time thing. Maybe the Doctor wasn’t interested in that sort of thing. Maybe she had actually hallucinated the entire thing.

Either way, by the fifth day she is frustrated and horny and really just needs five minutes to herself so she can sort out her _problem —_ problem being constant Doctor exposure with no release, at all. She’s there when Yaz falls asleep and she’s there then she wakes and she stays during the day, only popping out for a few minutes at a time with no guarantee what time she’ll burst back through the door.

And she sleeps there too.

That wouldn’t be bad either if she didn’t have a tendency to cuddle, and by cuddle she means koala-ing, one leg bent at the knee and laying over top of Yaz’s legs, her arm wrapped around her waist and head on her shoulder.

And truly, Yaz does not mind — like, at all. She loves it, actually. Loves the way the Doctor reaches for her in her sleep and always ends up curled around her some way. But the press of her breasts to Yaz’s side and the soft skin of her legs and the way her breath ghosts hot over Yaz’s neck has her literally ready to explode.

She detangles herself from the Doctor’s limbs and slips out of bed, padding over to the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. She’s almost fully healed and the wound looks good — scarred but not badly, honestly. Then her hand is down her underwear before she can help herself and she tugs at her hard cock, a low groan sounding in her throat.

She squeezes her hand and her hips buck forward slightly, seeking out more. The first full stroke has her head tilting back, other hand white knuckled grip on the edge of the sink. She doesn’t bother going slow, too worked up from days without release to even bother teasing herself. Her arm flexes in the mirror as she wanks herself off over the sink, small whimpers escaping her closed mouth. She tries to be quiet, she really does, but it’s so, _so_ hard when she’s imaging the Doctor on her knees, Yaz’s cock in her mouth and looking up at her with _those eyes._

There’s a sharp knock on the door. “Yaz? You okay?” the Doctor asks, sounding worried.

Yaz jumps back from the sink, pulling her boxers back up her hips, her dick still obviously hard and tenting the fabric.She pulls the big t-shirt down to try and cover it and wipes her hand on her thigh before opening the door. “I’m fine, was just usin’ the toilet,” she lies, brushing past her to get back into bed.

The Doctor follows behind, sliding under the covers on her side of the bed and waiting until Yaz lays down to cuddle up next to her. She apparently doesn’t notice Yaz’s hard on when she slides her knee up her thigh and wraps an arm around her waist. Yaz lays there, stiff as a board, trying desperately to think about dead kittens, clowns — _something._ A rough thumb rubs slow circles on her bare hip. Blunt nails start to scratch at her hip and Yaz breathes hard through her nose.

“Doctor,” she says.

The Doctor hums in response.

“You’ve gotta stop doin’ that — your nails.”

The Doctor lifts her head, brows furrowed in the dim light of the room. “My what —“ she trails off, looking down at her hand, then catching sight of Yaz’s still very hard dick. “Oh,” she says.

It’s a long moment before she turns her head back to Yaz. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “Do you, uh — need to take care of that?”

Yaz looks down, face hot and eternally grateful it’s at least dark enough that the Doctor probably can’t tell. “I were tryin’, earlier. You sort of interrupted.”

Realization passes over the Doctor’s face and her lips part. “Oh.” Is all she says.

“But I’ll be okay, really. Don’t worry,” Yaz backtracks.

“Do you want me to do it?” The Doctor asks casually, just like she would ask Yaz if she could make her a cup of tea, or what planet she wants to go to today.

Yaz’s eyes snap back to the Doctor’s face and she can’t make out every detail but she can see the want written clear as day. Yaz’s tongue darts out to wet her lips and she nods.

The Doctor grins claps her hands, the lights turning on — _of course_ they’re also clap lights. Why the fuck not?

She leans forward and presses a quick kiss to her mouth, then trails down her jaw. The Doctor wastes no time in pulling Yaz’s shirt off her body, throwing it behind her. She feels hands palm her breasts, pinching her nipples between sure fingers. Her back arches into the touch and one of her hands reaches up automatically to tangle in blonde hair, scratching lightly at the back of her head. The Doctor bites down on the top of her left breast (above her heart) and Yaz hisses through her teeth.

She doesn’t spend long flicking nipples with her tongue, mind obviously on the bigger picture (read: her dick). She places wet kisses over Yaz’s hips and stops when she gets to the waistband of her underwear, fingers toying with it but not making any move to pull them off. She looks up at Yaz, the question in her eyes.

“Please,” Yaz says.

The Doctor hooks her fingers in the waistband and pulls the fabric down her legs, chucking it somewhere behind her. Her lips ghost up the inside of Yaz’s leg, tongue flicking out to lick at the bottom of her cock. Yaz lets out an embarrassing whimper when the Doctor parts her lips just slightly, holding the base with one hand and guiding the tip to pull down her bottom lip. It takes all of her willpower to not thrust her hips forward if only to get the tip past her lips, into the mouth that she knows is going to feel _so good._ Almost definitely better than her hand, or any fleshlight she could ever buy.

It’s absolutely embarrassing how easily the Doctor has made her putty in her hands — how quick, and all it took were a few well placed kisses and her mouth _near_ Yaz’s dick. The Doctor gives a firm stroke and Yaz groans low in her throat, eyes locked on hazel clouded over with lust. Her hand tightens in blonde hair and the Doctor smirks against the shaft, finally taking the flat of her tongue and licking a long stripe up to the tip. Yaz doesn’t even have time to register _that_ when the Doctor takes half her cock in her mouth easily, hand tightening at the base.

“ _Oh_ _fuck_ ,” Yaz moans, head falling back to the pillow. She really can’t take both the visual and the physical sensations at the same time or she’s going to come shockingly fast and she really wants this to last as long as possible. The Doctor’s mouth is warm and wet and she can feel her tongue flat against the bottom, and then she feels the Doctor take more of her in and she can’t keep her eyes closed anymore, she _needs_ to see.

She lifts her head and looks down her own body at the most pornographic and wonderful thing she’s ever seen in her entire life. She wants to take a picture, it’s that great (she thinks about it too but decides against it. That’s a thing you ask about first). The Doctor between her spread legs, bent over and sucking Yaz’s cock like her life depends on it. Her eyes are closed and there’s the small crease between her brows that becomes more prominent when she takes more into her mouth. She grips the top of Yaz’s thigh tight, blunt nails digging into her skin (but she’s not complaining in the slightest).

She feels her orgasm building in her body, bubbling under her skin like lava through her veins. The Doctor lets out a little whimper when Yaz’s cock nudges the back of her throat and her hand leaves the base of her dick to claw at Yaz’s hip, trying to take more.

 _She wants this_ , Yaz thinks, the knowledge hitting her straight in the gut and sending heat through her body. _She’s enjoying this._

Yaz, not one to deny the Doctor anything, moves her hips to nudge the back of her throat again, then farther until she’s fully sheathed. The Doctor slowly opens her eyes and looks up at her, crease between her brows back but eyes swimming with barely contained lust as Yaz’s dick throbs in her throat. Slowly she pulls back and starts sucking Yaz’s dick properly again. Yaz watches her lips around her cock, every inch going in and coming back out, covered in saliva. The Doctor pulls her mouth away with a wet sound, spit trialing back to the tip.

They both speak at the same time.

“Can you —“

“Do you want me to —“

They both stop talking and Yaz says, “Sorry, go ahead.”

“No, you go, what were you gonna say?”

Yaz swallows hard. “Do you want me to, uh — y’know, help you get off too? Seems a bit selfish if it’s just me.”

The Doctor sits up, suddenly excited. “Can you stick it in?” she asks.

Yaz’s brain short circuits for a moment. “Stick it…in?”

“Yeah, y’know, put your cock in me?” the Doctor asks, sounding so sincere, like she’s asking if Yaz wants to go to a nice park, or watch the sunset with her. _Are they having the same conversation or is something getting lost in translation?_

“I know what that means, Doctor. Just didn’t think you’d be so…blunt.” Yaz runs a hand through her hair and sits up, wet dick rolling over her skin. “Do you — or I mean does the tardis have protection? Wait, can you get pregnant?” Yaz asks, suddenly realizing she knows next to nothing about the Doctor’s physiology except for the two hearts and three brains.

The Doctor looks up for a moment like she’s thinking. “Not sure. I have a daughter, but that wasn’t natural birth as I was still a man, mind,” she says, moving of the bed and around to the nightstand drawer. She rummages around for a few moments before holding out a small plastic rectangle with flourish. “Brilliant."

She tosses the condom to Yaz and sets the bottle on the nightstand, hands moving to the waistband of her shorts. Yaz is off the bed in an instant, hands reaching out to stop the Doctor’s movements.

“Please, let me,” she says, leaning forward to ghost her lips over the Doctor’s neck. The Doctor sucks in a sharp breath when Yaz sucks lightly at her pulse point then pulls on the ear chain with her teeth. She licks at her ear lobe and pulls it between two teeth and the Doctor’s hands come up to her shoulders, pulling her closer. Yaz’s cock — still hard, still making itself known — presses between them and Yaz can’t help the slight rock of her hips when their lips finally meet.

The Doctor kisses her soft and slow, moving to cup her cheek in one hand. Yaz tugs at the hem of her shirt and starts to lift it up. They break apart enough for Yaz to pull it over her head and attach both hands to her breasts, flicking pink nipples with her thumbs. The Doctor’s mouth falls open against Yaz’s own and Yaz takes the opportunity to shove her tongue forward, licking into her mouth. She lets out a little whimper as Yaz ravishes her, hands kneading her breasts and twisting nipples between strong fingers.

Yaz breaks away only to run her lips over the Doctor’s neck, biting down lightly on her shoulder and getting a short gasp in return. One hand moves down to dip fingers under the waistband of her sleep shorts and the other twists her nipple, mouth trailing feather light over her chest before taking one nipple into her mouth. The Doctor moans, head falling back and tangling her hand in Yaz’s hair. Yaz smirks against her skin and flicks a nipple with her tongue, using her teeth to pull slightly. Her other hand joins the hand already toying with her waistband and her mouth switches breasts, biting down hard enough to leave a mark.

The Doctor, eyes closed and head tilted back, says to the heavens, “ _Please_.”

And Yaz responds. Both hands pull her shorts and underwear down, letting them pool at the floor. She runs two fingers through the Doctor and they find wet folds, practically soaked. Yaz pulls up from her breasts and spins them around, pushing the Doctor against the bed with a soft huff. Yaz picks up the condom and tears the package open, sliding the latex down her shaft before pouring a bit of lube in her palm and rubbing it slow over herself. The Doctor watches her hand stroke herself and bites her lip, spreading her legs slightly wider.

Yaz wipes her hand on her sheets and pulls the Doctor close to the edge by the back of her knees, hard cock bumping against her clit. The Doctor whimpers as she looks up at Yaz, face desperate. Yaz doesn’t waste time lining up the tip with the Doctor’s entrance and slowly pushing the first inch inside.

She’s fucking _tight_ and Yaz breathes hard through her nose, trying to calm herself. If she was having trouble not coming too soon before it’s gonna be next to impossible now. She looks down at the Doctor and sees her eyes closed, the crease between her brows back.

“Hey, you okay?” Yaz asks quietly.

The Doctor’s eyes open and she studies Yaz, small smile gracing her features. She nods. “Yeah, I think I am,” she says, turning her head to kiss the inside of Yaz’s wrist. “Please continue.”

Yaz pushes her hips forward and they both breathe deep when she’s fully sheathed inside.

“Oh, gods,” the Doctor breathes.

“Y’can call me Yaz, thanks.” Yaz smirks, pulling out halfway and pushing back in, faster. It’s slick and hot and tight and Yaz has to concentrate really hard on the Doctor because this was supposed to be about _her,_ like, helping her get off too, and that won’t happen if Yaz comes too early. The Doctor wraps her legs around her waist, pulling her closer, mouth open in an almost constant moan. She’s loud — Yaz could’ve bet on that — and it only spurs her on more, making her want to make the Doctor scream her name.

She holds the Doctor’s shoulder with one hand as she slams her hips against her, the sound of skin smacking against skin filling the room. The Doctor keeps eye contact until she can’t — and that’s when Yaz reaches down to rub at her clit. Her own orgasm builds until she’s on the edge, barely holding on by a string. The Doctor grips her cock with pulsing walls and scorching heat that she can’t help but sink back into every time. She feels like she’s possessed, unable to do or think about anything but making the Doctor come apart underneath her (preferably on her cock).

And she does, _hard_. Her nails dig into Yaz’s shoulder and she arches off the bed and her legs tighten around her waist until Yaz can barely move her hips to keep the thrusting going. Tight walls clench around her, but what really brings her over the edge is the Doctor looking up at her, face twisted in the throes of her orgasm and mouth repeating the only word in her vocabulary — _Yaz._

Yaz ruts her hips forward with a couple of low grunts and she’s coming hard, the tight coil inside of her snapping and sending electricity through her veins. She thrusts harder into the Doctor — now mostly through her own orgasm and moaning softly as Yaz keeps fucking her — and crashes their lips together as she feels herself release inside of the Doctor (the condom, but still). She comes to a stop fully sheathed inside, their chests heaving against each other as Yaz’s arms fail to hold her fully up anymore. She leans their foreheads together and kisses her softly on the lips, the Doctor weakly responding.

“I think you’ve broken me, Yasmin Khan,” she mumbles against her mouth.

A grin creeps over Yaz’s face. “Good?”

The Doctor sighs happily. “Brilliant.”

Yaz kisses her once more before straightening up and pulling out. She carefully pulls the condom off and ties it, holding it awkwardly in her hand while she tries to remember where the fuck her bin is (does she even have one in here?).

“Left side,” the Doctor says, pointing to the other side of the bed. Yaz walks over and sure enough finds a small bin hidden beneath the bed frame. She drops the used condom in there and wipes her dick off with a few tissues. The Doctor is still laying in the same position when she rounds the bed again and she smiles softly up at Yaz — well, she does until Yaz drops to her knees, pulling her ass to the edge of the bed and spreading her legs.

“Oh,” the Doctor breathes. “Yaz, you know you don’t have to.”

Yaz kisses the inside of one thigh, sticky with sweat (her own or Yaz’s?). “I know,” she mumbles against soft pale skin, making her way towards the Doctor’s center. “Trust me, I know,” she says, dipping her head forward to take the first swipe through wet folds.

She makes the Doctor come three more times, and Yaz falls asleep with the Doctor tucked against her chest, arm tight around her waist and leg bent, intertwined with her own.

So yeah, problem not _fixed_ , but close enough.

**Author's Note:**

> as always send your love letters and prompts to @zanthetran on tumblr <3


End file.
